


Watching Cordy

by derry667



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-29
Updated: 2005-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derry667/pseuds/derry667
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthdayverse.  Wes & Gunn discuss TV and fight over the remote control.  Humour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching Cordy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

* * *

**__**

"Man, Wes told me he knew you, but I didn't believe him. Hey, is it true that you and Wes were... You know, that you had a little..."  
Gunn to Cordy in Birthday  


* * *

Two exhausted demon hunters, both nursing numerous bruises, stumbled through the doorway into the darkened room. Despite their almost crippling fatigue, they each wore a faint weary smile and, for once, neither of them were splattered with demon gore. It had definitely been one of their better demon hunting expeditions. 

Still unable to summon up the energy to actually speak, they silently placed their weapons in the apartment’s walk-in closet. When they took a quick look into the adjacent room, they were relieved to find that their confederate was sleeping peacefully. They could afford to relax for a little while. 

Stumbling over to the couch in the centre of the room, they simultaneously reached for the remote control. Both moved sluggishly due to their exhaustion, but the elder of the two was additionally hampered by having previously lost an arm in a battle with a demon more than a year ago. Before he had even realised that he was grasping at an empty space, his companion had picked up the remote and switched on the Lakers’ game. When realisation dawned, he finally found the impetus to speak. 

"Oh, dear God! Not _again_! For pity’s sake, it’s a delayed telecast, and you already know the final score." 

"Yeah," the other retorted. "But I still haven’t _seen_ it. _Watching_ the game is something else all together." 

"Absolutely not! No way! I’ve already had to sit through this bloody game one time too many while we were driving back. Not to mention the almost continual abuse you felt was necessary to heap upon the unseen referee." 

"Hey! My truck, my radio." 

"Well, my flat, my TV and I want to watch the other channel." 

The younger guy looked blank for a moment and then extremely pained, as realisation dawned. 

"Oh, man! Not ‘Cordy’ again. It’s just a re-run anyway." 

"It’s not a re-run. It’s a new episode this week. I checked." 

"Well, ya tape the damn show anyway. Watch it later, why doncha?" 

"The VCR has finally bitten the dust, as you know perfectly well." 

"Well, it _was_ ancient. Probably older than me, or you even. I know y’love old stuff, like antique books an’ all that, but keepin’ that machine goin’ when it was so old an’ sick? That was down right cruel! Ya oughta done the right thing ages ago an’ put the damn thing outa its misery. Preferably by puttin’ a bullet through it!" 

"Ha, ha. It still functioned reasonably well for something so old and decrepit. So show some respect for the venerable deceased, please." 

After a moment, the diversionary nature of his companion’s comments penetrated the TV owner’s weary and befuddled brain and he rallied, "and _don’t_ change the subject! Give me the remote control, and let me watch me watch my program in peace." 

With a disgruntled snort, Charles Gunn handed over the remote, and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce switched to his favourite sit-com with a contented sigh. 

But Gunn wasn’t done griping. "Y’know, I really don’t get it. I mean, you’re not all that big on TV in general. Okay, so you’ll sit down and watch Masterpiece Theatre, or maybe something like West Wing, or even Friends, or whatever movie happens to be on at the time. But you actually _tape_ Cordy every single week – or did until the VCR passed away, God rest its soul." He mockingly crossed himself. "I just don’t get it." 

Wes shrugged without taking his eyes off the screen. "I like the show." 

"Yes, but _why_? I mean, it just doesn’t seem like your kinda thing, y’know?" 

"I enjoy watching it, therefore, by definition, it _is_ my ‘kinda thing’." 

Wes resolutely kept his gaze fixed on the TV screen, obviously hoping that Gunn would drop the conversation and allow him to watch TV in peace. 

Gunn actually did grant his wish – for about two minutes, before piping up again with, "Y’do know why it’s called Cordy, doncha?" 

Wes sighed. "Because that is the name of the main character? Not to mention the star of the show?" 

"Yeah, y’see, her acting is so bad they have to give her character the same name as her. Otherwise she’d forget who she’s supposed to be playing." 

Wesley frowned in irritation. "Cordelia Chase is a more than competent actress. Naming the character, and hence the series, after her is merely a testimony to her considerable personal charisma." 

Gunn snorted. "I don’t believe it! You English types are supposed to know about good acting. Cordy’s just a complete ditz." 

"She is not. The character has a shallow and materialistic exterior, but beneath that she is loyal friend and a young woman of considerable personal strength." 

"You what? It’s a crap character on a crap show, and the woman couldn’t act to save her life!" 

"The woman playing the ‘crap character’ on the ‘crap show’ has won two Emmy awards." 

Gunn was surprised to hear Wesley’s tone actually becoming rather heated. It sparked his curiosity. This had all started as just playful baiting of his friend’s TV preferences, but now he was beginning to wonder. 

"So? All them award things is rigged. It’s like the Oscars. No way Denzel should have missed out for Malcolm X." 

Wesley sighed in exasperation. "Yes, and as you’ve informed me on numerous occasions, you are boycotting the cinema as a medium because of it. Why don’t you stage a similar protest against the Emmy awards and stop watching television? Then perhaps I could view Cordy in peace." 

"I’d boycott watching Cordy, if I could. But no, you’ve always gotta watch every show, even the re-runs. Just coz you’ve got a thing for skanky little star of the show. Hell, she probably slept with some producer to get the gig in the first place... which kinda explains them Emmy awards too..." 

"She most certainly did _not_!" For the first time, Wesley actually turned to face Gunn and glared at him. "And I’ll thank you not to malign the character of a spirited and talented young woman!" 

Although Wesley’s emotional involvement in the argument had amused and intrigued him before, now Gunn was quite frankly a little worried by its intensity. He hadn’t seen his friend get so worked up about something so trivial in a very long time. 

These days they had much bigger issues to worry about, like Angel’s steady deterioration under the near constant assault of prophetic visions sent to him by the Powers That Be. This past couple of weeks, it had got so bad that Angel didn’t trust himself to go out and fight demons with them. He seemed to be barely hanging onto to his sanity. And without him to back them up in battle, their already dangerous lifestyle was getting practically suicidal. 

Wes, as usual, just said that they would adapt. One such adaptation was that he’d gone out and bought some pretty heavy-duty chains and stuff to put in Angel’s room. Angel had just looked at him very seriously and said, "Good idea." 

Things seemed to be steadily getting more and more bleak and gloomy. By this stage, Gunn was well used to Angel’s brooding, but now Wes was also starting to become more and more withdrawn. 

And now suddenly he was getting all prissy about Gunn bad mouthing some sit-com actress? That was just too weird. 

"Whoa, English! Doncha think y’taking this thing a bit too far. I know ya like her an’ all but it’s not like you know her or anything." 

Wes stared at him for a moment, the intensity of his glare fading. He silently turned back to face the TV with a sullen expression and, after watching his beloved Cordy’s laughing face for a few moments, muttered, "Shows how much you know." 

"What?" Gunn practically shouted. "What’s _that_ supposed to mean? Are ya tryin to tell me that ya _do_ know Cordy Chase?" No way! Where the hell would you meet someone like her?" 

"At high school." Wesley still did not make eye contact as he added under his breath, "And ‘twas hell indeed." 

Gunn laughed, now certain that his friend was making it up. "Now c’mon, Wes. I don’t know Cordy’s age exactly, but no way was she in your class at high school." 

"Not my high school, hers. I was acting as the school’s assistant librarian at the time." 

"Hang on a minute!" Gunn reluctantly found himself getting caught up in the story. "Yeah, I remember readin’ somewhere that Sunnydale is her hometown." 

"Not that you’d stoop to reading articles about Cordy in TV Guide and the like," Wes pointed out with a hint of a wry smirk. 

"No way, I’d stoop that low," Gunn gave a rather sheepish grin. "But wasn’t Sunnydale where you and Angel used to have that vampire-fighting gig?" 

"It was indeed." Wes nodded, still watching the TV. 

"While you was acting like some sort of librarian?" 

"Yes, while I was acting as assistant librarian at the local high school." 

"So you were like one of her teachers?" 

Wes sighed nostalgically. "Not exactly." 

"Not exactly? Then _what_ exactly?" 

Wesley drew himself up slightly and turned to look Gunn in the eye, suddenly every inch the stuffy English guy he had been when they first met. "There are some things that a gentleman doesn’t discuss." 

Gunn stared at him incredulously for a moment and then burst into helpless laughter. 

"Oh, man! You really had me goin’ there for a minute!" He made an attempt to mimic Wesley’s prim English tone "‘There are some things that a gentleman doesn’t discuss.’ You and Cordy Chase? No way!" 

Wes merely shrugged, and returned his gaze to the TV. 

"C’mon, English, admit it! You’ve been havin’ me on. No way that you had a thing goin’ with Cordy." Gunn punched his friend lightly on the shoulder. "Admit it!" 

"I told you, I’m not prepared to discuss it with you." 

"Well, that’s handy for you, ain’t it? If you don’t discuss it, you don’t hafta prove it." 

Wes sighed again. "As a matter of fact, I don’t intend to try to _prove_ anything." 

"So why aren’t ya livin’ the LA high life with the famous Miss Chase then? She dump you when she became a big star?" 

"No, she most certainly did not!" Wes was becoming very annoyed again. "I lost my position in Sunnydale. She and I mutually decided it was best not to pursue the relationship. We parted company on reasonably good terms, but did not keep in touch." Then he seemed to realise that, in his indignation, he was, in fact, discussing the relationship, just as he had previously stated no gentleman would. "And that is absolutely the last I have to say on the matter!" 

He turned resolutely back to the TV, this time folding his arms for added emphasis. 

"I still don’t believe ya." Gunn prodded. 

"I don’t care whether you believe me or not." 

There was another brief pause before Gunn prodded again. 

"So how far did ya get with her?" 

Wesley sighed in exasperation. "I thought you didn’t believe that we ever had any form of relationship?" 

"I don’t. I’m just humouring your delusion." 

"Well, thank you for that monumental consideration," Wes replied with heavy sarcasm. "But I’m still not going to discuss it. If you want to indulge in some sort of romantic fantasy, create your own!" 

"Aha! You just admitted it’s all just a fantasy!" 

"I admitted nothing of the sort! I’m just not prepared to reminisce about my previous romantic associations for your vicarious pleasure. Now, will you _please_ let the matter drop and allow me to watch the remainder of my program in peace?" 

"Ya mean the program that’s just about finished?" 

Wes looked back at the TV and sure enough, there was a final peal of laughter from the studio audience and the final credits began to roll. 

"The Lakers’ game is only halfway through," Gunn then added in his most reasonable tone of voice. "Can we turn over for the second half?" 

Wes groaned out his frustration and exasperation. Then he stood and tossed the remote control at Gunn in disgust. "You can watch what you bloody well like! I’m off to bed. You can wake me if Angel has another vision, or there’s any other disaster looming." 

"Sure you don’t want your TV back after the game finishes?" 

"Bugger off," Wes said succinctly, as he stalked out of the room. 

"G’night, Wes!" Gunn called after him. 

Wesley’s reply was unintelligible, probably fortunately so. 

Gunn turned back to the TV and flipped the channel with satisfaction. He’d got what he wanted, even if it was a bit later than he’d have liked. And the conversation had been entertaining, even if the very idea was ridiculous. 

Wes and Cordy Chase? Yeah, right. Like that would ever be possible. Even in some sort of bizarre parallel universe, it was never, ever going to happen. 

"Dream on, English." Gunn chuckled to himself. "Dream on."


End file.
